


Lights Inside This Dream

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wishes that the dark ceiling had the answers that he wants and needs.</p><p>Dear ceiling, I just had a horrible fight with my best friend where we basically blamed each other for all the problems in our lives which started when I made the horribly misinformed decision of going out into the woods to look for a dead body. I wound up storming out after yelling that I’m not even sure if we’re best friends anymore when I can’t even recognize who he is. Do you think that maybe I was too harsh on him because he hasn’t had the best year and I still feel guilty for the mess that he’s landed in because of me. From, Feeling Pretty Crummy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lights Inside This Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Oh _God_ I hate this fic so much. I don't even know why I wrote this self indulgent mess of a fic. No wait, that's a lie. There was some spoiler/rumor that Scott and Stiles would have a big fight in 3A and my brain went "Nuuuuuuu! Wait, if they do... can I write him Derek and Isaac finding Stiles and just hanging out with him to wordlessly tell him that he's not alone?" So a ~~shit~~ attempt was made. ~~Run away while you can.~~ Blanket warning for Season 03 spoilers. 
> 
> Sorry for the Erica feels?
> 
> Unbetaed

He knows that he should it easy on the speed bumps because his Jeep isn’t exactly in the best of shape and the shock breakers are already on their last legs. But it feels good to be reckless and feel every jolt down to his bones.   
  


Every jerk fans the flames of his dimming anger that he wants to desperately hold onto. Which is probably why he makes it a point to drive over every damn hole in the road that he can see. It keeps him angry, makes him stay focused, helps him remember the bitterness that had been stewing inside of him for  _months_.   
  


Stiles wouldn’t ever admit that he’s the most patient of people. Hell, he’s as opposite of patient as you could most days. But he’d also admit that he’s been pretty damn patient with Scott in general but there’s a limit to everything. Best friends they might be (are they even anymore?, Stiles can’t help but question himself suddenly as the anger begins to grow cold) but there always comes a point where enough is fucking enough.  
  


It’s physics really, Stiles decides as he tries to shake the angry words still bouncing around in his head. You just can’t keep keep coiling a spring tighter and tighter and expect it to hold. There  _will_ come a point where it’s all too much and the coil will snap. Or something like that, he’s having a hard time focusing on anything that isn’t the echoes of his fight with Scott.  
  


With an angry twist of his hands, Stiles drives his Jeep to the side of the road and turns the engine off, song being cut off mid-note. He doesn’t know why he thought that staying still was a better idea than moving because now he can feel the fine trembling in his muscles that just won’t stop.  
  


Stiles clenches his hands around the steering wheel, tightening his grip to the point of pain in the hopes that maybe,  _just maybe_ , the pain will help stop the jitters. But there’s no such luck. His body is still thrumming with energy, bouncing around inside of him begging to be let out in some way.  
  


Twenty odd minutes ago he had wanted to let it out in a tired, angry punch right in Scott’s face. But he’d also been angry, oh so angry - at being left behind, at being second fiddle, at being human, at not being useful enough, at almost  _dying_ one times too many.  
  


But now he just feels cold. Heavy. Like his insides are made of mercury and lead. Every breath cools the anger and turns it into a bone aching melancholy. Stiles has to lean back in his seat, palms scrubbing over his face as he tries to rub the tiredness away.  
  


 _‘And that’s why you shouldn’t keep things bottled up.’_  Stiles thinks bitterly to himself, snorting slightly at the mocking tone of the advice.  _‘Open channels of communication are the key to any healthy relationship. But how do you go about telling your best friend that you sort of resent him for leaving you hanging out to dry even though he didn’t mean for that to happen?’_  
  


It’s irrational and maybe a bit justified and just a bit not. It’s been driving Stiles up the wall for  _months_ , debating between blaming Scott and just letting it go. Stiles exhales slowly as he drags his hands down his face, fingertips pulling at his skin as he stares up at the ceiling and wonders when that resentment had gotten so deep, so bad.  
  


And when the Hell had his best friend changed into someone that he couldn’t recognize? He’s known the guy for practically all their lives and he hadn’t seen this change in character coming. ‘ _Maybe that’s because you never thought Scott could be the way that he is now.’_  
  


Stiles wishes that the dark ceiling had the answers that he wants and needs.  
  


Dear ceiling, I just had a horrible fight with my best friend where we basically blamed each other for all the problems in our lives which started when I made the horribly misinformed decision of going out into the woods to look for a dead body. I wound up storming out after yelling that I’m not even sure if we’re best friends anymore when I can’t even recognize who he is. Do you think that maybe I was too harsh on him because he hasn’t had the best year and I still feel guilty for the mess that he’s landed in because of me. From, Feeling Pretty Crummy.  
  


"My and my big mouth." Stiles mumbles, finding it hard to get the words past the lump that’s growing in his throat. Now that he’s thinking about what he’s said to Scott, he feels worse than crummy. He feels…  
  


The knock on his window makes him start so badly that he slams his knee into the steering wheel. Pain, sharp and keen makes him curse loudly before turning his attention towards the window. The hand that’s trying to rub the pain away stills when he realizes who is standing on the other side of the glass. “Derek?" Stiles askes in confusion, quickly rolling the window down. “Isaac? What are you guys doing out here?"  
  


In typical fashion, (Stiles isn’t even surprised anymore at this behavior really), Derek ignores his question and opts to scowl heavily. “I think that’s what we should be asking you."  
  


"Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s bad manners to answer a question with a question?" Stiles throws back, not thinking about his words and just wanting to be left alone. Did they miss the mood surrounding the Jeep? He wants to wallow and he can’t wallow in a mixture of guilt, touch of self-pity and misery if there’s company around. Especially Derek because his guilt would just swallow Stiles whole.  
  


But maybe a spot of thinking before opening his mouth would have been a good thing because a flash of something passes over Derek’s face. It makes Stiles swallow, feeling even more shittier than before. “Sorry. I just…" He could explain that he’s been having a shitty day. But then he might have to explain the shitty day and Stiles doesn’t really want to do that.  
  


"Technically that wasn’t a question." Derek replies in far too even a voice.   
  


It makes Stiles sigh and run his hand over his face, rub against his mouth and against his jawline before he finally mumbles, “I don’t wanna talk about it." ‘ _Take the hint and please go please don’t push it don’t ask me to explain myself I couldn’t take it not right now’_  
  


Isaac, surprise of all surprises, is the one who tilts his head just so to the left and asks, “Are you sure you’re alright?" Any other day and Stiles would have made some kind of puppy joke but tonight, tonight he’s so,  _so tired_ and he wants to sleep for a decade. Maybe by then things would have become better between him and Scott.  
  


Okay so he’s being melodramatic but he thinks that he’s entitled to it considering how bad and how  _big_ of a fight he’s just had. All he wants to do is go home, crawl under the sheets and sleep this ache away. Maybe the morning will bring a new clarity that might help him fix this extremely huge hole that he’s dug (which just happens to be the size and shape of his friendship with Scott, having a depth just past 6 feet).  
  


He’s jerked out of his thoughts when the door is pulled open and Derek is trying to shove him into the passenger seat. “Move over."  
  


Apparently suddenly being told to move over without any real explanation is just normal in Derek-world and no one sent Derek the memo that things like that just don’t fly in the real world. Which makes it totally okay for Stiles to eye the taller man in confusion and disbelief because   
  


"What? Why?" Stiles asks in growing bewilderment as Derek rolls his eyes in clear exasperation and gives him another shove. It’s hard enough to make Stiles bowl over on the other side, arms wind milling just a bit as he falls over. “Hey hey! No man handling the human, I thought we covered that ages ago!"  
  


Derek ignores him, it’s par for the fucking course really. Stiles is tempted to look up and directly start complaining to God or whoever is listening about his life because really, he  _doesn’t_ need this _-_ not tonight. It’s the very last thing he wants. He’ll even take chicken pox and measles at the same time instead of Derek taking over his baby. “Isaac, take the car." He tells the teen, dropping the keys into the palm Isaac holds out. “We’ll follow you."  
  


 _Of course_. Stiles can’t help but feel just a smidge resentful and a bit happy when he realizes what’s going on. Derek and company have clearly stepped into a new pile of supernatural doo-doo and they require Stiles help to clean it up. This can deal with. A potentially life threatening situation is just the kind of thing that will help him avoid his current problems.  
  


Stiles scrambles into the passenger seat, wondering what happened this time. Maybe it was more Alpha business, they could have tried to attack Derek again (Stiles really hopes that they hadn’t broken the lovely couch that Derek had gotten for his loft. It was super comfortable and it’d just be a shame if something happened to it. The coffee table though, was a totally different story. It was a rat bastard coming into contact with his little toe one too many times. It deserved to die a horrible painful death) or hey, maybe it was Hunters?  
  


The possibilities were…. limited but promising. “So what’s the deal?" Stiles asks as Derek pulls the Jeep back on the road. “Have the Alpha’s been doodling on private property again? Or did they try to attack you again? They didn’t go after Isaac did they? Throw me a bone here."  
  


Derek gives him a mildly irritated look, like he’s a mosquito buzzing around his ear. “You do know that the dog jokes were never funny, right?"  
  


Dog jokes? When had he… ah. Stiles sniffs, pretends to look put out as he crosses his arms. “You do know that deflecting isn’t going to make me stop asking what’s wrong, right?" He parrots back.  
  


That earns him an annoyed eye roll that Stiles likes to think is 1 part fondness, 6 parts ‘why do I even bother with you’ and 3 parts annoyed. But it doesn’t earn him any kind of answer so Stiles is forced into trying to figure out what kind of tragedy he’s going to have to deal with now. Unfortunately, the longer they drive in silence, the worse the possibilities are getting.  
  


Just as Stiles is mentally prepping himself for being told that someone is either close to dying or has already died, he realizes that Derek is parking the Jeep. Right in front of his new loft apparently. Stiles blinks up at the building before turning towards Derek, who is already hopping out. In a bit of a daze (because breathing has become more than slightly difficult at this point), he falls into step with Isaac as they make their way upstairs.   
  


"Are you okay?" Isaac asks, looking about as worried as Stiles feels. His hand hovers for a moment over Stiles’ shoulder before coming to rest tentatively over his arm. “You look like you’re going to pass out any second."  
  


That wasn’t out of the realm of possibility actually. “I might." Stiles croaks out, forcing his feet to climb the ever lasting staircase. “Just… give it to me straight. How bad is it?"  
  


"How bad is what?" The teen asks, face shifting into a confused expression.   
  


Some days, Stiles wishes that people wouldn’t treat him with kiddie gloves. He’s old enough, and more importantly, been through enough shit to deserve a straight answer instead of the molly coddling that he gets sometimes. “Whatever the problem is!" Stiles yells a little too loudly.   
  


Isaac only looks more confused before looking up at Derek and then back at Stiles. “But there is no problem."  
  


Which makes about zero sense because if there isn’t any kind of problem, why has Derek pretty much strong armed him to his place? Isn’t that the way that their sort-of-friendship goes? There’s always some kind of problem that Derek or his pack can’t solve so Derek will drag him in and ask for help. And by ‘ask’ Stiles totally means demand in a threatening tone of voice.   
  


"Then why?" Stiles croaks out just as Derek’s pulling out his keys, eyes darting to and fro in confusion. He doesn’t appreciate it when Isaac herds him in like he’s a little kid and yanks his coat off. Manners, werewolves seem to have close to none some days.  
  


But Derek’s got at least so many manners that he answers the question, “Why what?" Stiles tries not to let his eyes roll out of his head at how stupid this conversation has gotten. He doesn’t understand why the pair isn’t getting what he’s trying to say.  
  


So he takes a deep breath and tries not to sound too aggrivated before grinding out, “Why’d you bring me here if there’s no werewolfy shenanigans going on?"  
  


There’s a flicker of something in Derek’s eyes that Stiles can’t quite recognize and before he can name it, it’s gone and hidden behind an impassive look. Stiles knows that there’s an answer coming his way but Isaac pops back up in front of him, glass of water in hand which he immediately presses into Stiles hand for some reason.  
  


Stiles’ irritation flickers and wanes in favor of confusion, wondering what the hell was wrong with these two before he notices the coaster that Isaac’s put down on the table. He’s ready to bet his computer that Derek’s the one who insists on the use of coasters but Stiles’ isn’t sure whose idea it was to get  _those_ particular coasters.  
  


He leans forward, fingertips dragging the coaster towards him before he picks it up. A snort falls out of his mouth, unable to help the bubble of amusement as he reads the text off the square. “Member of the wolf pack? Really?"  
  


This isn’t something that Derek would have bought, no doubts about that. Was it Isaac then? Stiles hadn’t known that the teenager had that kind of a sense humor in him ‘cause if he had known… well, they’d have been better friends. “Do I even wanna know where you got these from?" Stiles asks the man puttering around in the tiny kitchen before turning to grin at Isaac, who has come to sit by his side. “Better yet, I want to know so I can buy some too."  
  


Why Isaac smiles sadly at the question makes Stiles pause for a moment. For a moment he wonders if he’s imagining the sudden silence in the kitchen but there’s a quick rattle of cutlery before Derek’s wandering back in with a tray that’s loaded with take away containers.  
  


"Ebay." Isaac answers, still smiling that sad, wry little smile.  
  


Stiles gives the square a contemplative look before asking, “Mind sending me the link to where you bought it from? I think Scott’ll like a set."   
  


The pause is undoubtedly awkward and Stiles realizes that no, he hadn’t been imagining that quick moment of silence in the kitchen just scant minutes ago. Derek focuses entirely too much attention on opening the white cardboard boxes that are no doubt filled with leftover Chinese food while Isaac sighs. “I… wouldn’t know. I didn’t buy them."  
  


Stiles isn’t all together too surprised by this revelation. “Erica did." Isaac’s quiet tone makes something heavy twist inside his heart before it curls its way against the back of his throat. Ah. Well. That explained…a lot.   
  


He tries to swallow the lump down but it sticks, stubborn and unyeilding as the awkward silence stretches on and on without any hope of breaking. Stiles rubs his thumb over the smooth surface, a weak little twitch pulling the corner of his mouth up as he mumbles, “Figures she did."  
  


Because it really does make sense. This has Erica written all over it. Toeing the line of cheeky and good natured joking all in one neat little item. Someone lets out a soft puff of air that’s probably supposed to be a laugh but it just sounds tired. Stiles looks up at Derek, feeling far too old as the man shakes his head, as though he was alone instead of in company.  
  


Wordlessly, he accepts the plate that Derek holds out to him, placing the coaster back down on the low table. Maybe he should say that he misses her, misses her like something fierce. He could admit that there’s still moments when he’s out, driving back home, where he hits the brakes at the sight of long, wavy blond hair because his brain, or maybe his heart, immediately asks ‘Erica?’.   
  


So he opens his mouth, ready to confess that his brain still hasn’t managed to process that Erica’s  _gone_  but instead what tumbles out is. “I haven’t really talked to my dad in weeks now." Where that non-sequitor comes from, Stiles has no idea but it catches Isaac and Derek’s attention just as fast.  
  


It’s easier to focus on piling egg fried rice into his plate than see how the pair is looking at him. “Not for more than two minutes anyways. Which is a new level of messed up even for me. But there’s only so much I can say to my dad before it somehow comes back to why I’m hurt or why I’ve been sneaking into my room at some insane hour of the night. Whoever said ignorance was bliss clearly didn’t realize how much lying was involved in keeping the other party in bliss."  
  


There’s another huff, just as tired but a bit more amused. Probably Isaac, Stiles guesses as he moves onto the next box. “Can’t really look him in the eye anymore either so that pretty much limits all converations down to a minute or two. In and out, that’s the easiest way to avoid lying to people in any conversation." He pauses and considers his audience for a moment before adding, “Well, if they’re not a werewolf I mean. Then again, not like my dad’s needs super wolfy hearing to know that I’m lying all the time these days."  
  


Could he get all the food in his plate down his throat when this damn lump is only getting bigger and bigger? Stiles thinks that he can damn well try. It’s with far too much aggression that he cuts a piece of chicken into half with the spoon before he pops it into his mouth along with a hefty helping of the rice.   
  


It tastes terrible and bitter, the guilt of his actions and lies making the food go bland. And now that he’s on the train, his brain is more than happy to make a stop in Scott-dale and remind him that he might have burned  _that_ bridge too. The chewed up rice and chicken mixture gets stuck around the leaden ball in his throat, making Stiles swallow hard and reach for the water.  
  


The sound of him gulping down the water is too loud in his ears. Stiles wonders how it sounds to the werewolves (probably too loud too desperate too anxious to hide from the fear and guilt that’s chasing him down) before he slams the glass back down on the coaster. A part of him flinches, as though disrespecting the coaster in some way is being disrespectful to Erica and her memory.   
  


The air is heavy between them, laden with something that Stiles can’t name doesn’t want to name because it’s heavy, dear God it’s too heavy and it’s pressing down on his shoulders to the point that he wants to sink into the blue fabric of the couch.   
  


Stiles can’t help but wonder when things got so wrong so complicated so messy. Things aren’t supposed to be this hard at 17. He’s not supposed to worry that he might not get to his 18th birthday. Or that he’s disappointing his father every day by stacking up lie after lie one on top of another. He doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that having a major blow out with his best friend is the most normal thing in his freaky life. That’s really not the kind of normal teenage experience he wants to be honest.  
  


Isaac’s quiet sigh cuts through the pressure, his fork draggin over the plate before he mumbles, “I miss them." Stiles turns his gaze to the side, watching the curly haired teen stare miserably at a water chestnut. He jerks only a little when he feels something brush against his shoulderblades, wondering  _‘What the hell?’_  
  


Derek’s hand reaches out to squeeze Isaac’s shoulder, a small but comforting gesture. It shakes something loose in Stiles and makes him mumble, “Me too." Although he’s not sure if he means Erica and Boyd or Erica and Boyd and Dad and Scott. Probably the latter.   
  


The inside of his mouth feels too dry, his tongue too big and his words too small when Derek presses against his side with a tiny exhale. Stiles watches the hand leave Isaac’s shoulder and feels it rub the back of his head. A part of him twitches, not appreciating that Derek’s treating him like a child but it’s the nicest thing that anyone’s done for him in a while so Stiles chooses to accept the help and tries not to feel bereft when the hand retreats.  
  


Although it helps that Isaac presses up against his side. It helps to know that he’s not alone in this miserable puddle that is their collective lives. It might be wet and cold but he’s got some company that’ll help him stay afloat.   
  


Oh.  
  


Stiles gives Derek a quick look, contemplative and shrewd. Maybe that’s why the man had brought him here? Maybe he’d sensed Stiles’ distress and had wanted to help? If that were true, it was really so  _Derek_  that he’d just dragged Stiles along for the ride without explaining himself.   
  


He tries not to jump when Derek stop twirling some noodles around his fork and eyes him back. “What?" He asks, wary and just a bit irritated.  
  


Stiles shakes his head and turns his attention back to his food. “Nothing." He replies, leaning forward to grab the noodles. As he piles the chow mein into his plate, Stiles thinks that he’ll thank Derek before leaving. He’ll probably get a gruff ‘For what?’ in reply but that’s okay. Stiles still wants to get his appreciation across for getting some help in a moment where he’d really needed it. “Got any ketchup?" He asks instead.


End file.
